Reunion
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: Ariadne's ten year high school reunion is coming up, and she wants to show her old classmates that she's more then they remember. So she decides to ask everyone's favorite pointman to be her date. On semi-permanent hiatus. Dunno when I'll get back to it…
1. Chapter 1

REUNION

a/n This is my first non-drabble fanfic for Inception, which I LOVED, so go with me on this one.

Chapter One; The Request

"A ten year high school reunion, Ariadne? You're only 25."

She blushed, frowned, fidgeted, played with a pencil on her desk. She had thought about asking Arthur long and hard. He was far preferable to any of the other guys, even though they were good friends and she enjoyed working with them. "I graduated early."

"Three _years_ early?" The pointman's eyebrows rose, and surprised amusement colored his voice. "I suppose I should have known. After all, you _are_ a genius."

Trying to grin and glare at the same time never worked, but Ariadne continued in the attempt.

Arthur continued, his tone as calm and kind as always. "Let me guess; Following this early graduation, you took several years off to see the world and that's how you ended up in Paris."

Her face grew an even brighter shade of red.

"So did you want to ask for us to avoid planning a job that week?"

Ariadne bit her lip, and Arthur put his hands on her desk, leaned in, and watched her work up the courage for something. Then she blurted out, "Will you go with me?"

That set him back on his heels. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, then dropped her face onto her desk and crossed her arms over her head. What she mumbled next, he barely caught. "I don't have a boyfriend and they'll all make fun of me."

The man wanted to laugh, the reasoning was so basic and instinctive. But he knew he would hurt his friend and colleague if he let loose the chuckle threatening to escape. "What exactly are you asking, Ariadne?"

Finally, she turned her face up, still avoiding his eyes. Her fingers traced over the maze design from the latest job. "Would you come with me and pretend to be my boyfriend for the reunion?"

Arthur hesitated. He knew this probably wasn't a good idea, with the way things stood between them. As casually as possible, he asked, "Why me? Why not Dom or Eames?"

The Architect laughed and rolled her eyes. "That would be a _disaster_. Eames would spend the entire time hitting on all the other girls, and they'd all figure I had some kind of cheating player for a boyfriend. And poor, innocent little Ariadne wouldn't know any better.

"As for Cobb... He's a wonderful man. But Mal's still the way who has his heart. He still wears his wedding ring and I _couldn't _ask him to pretend he loved me instead."

"Which leaves me," Arthur continued in a wry tone.

"No!" Ariadne protested, jumping to her feet and grabbing his sleeve. "It's not that you were the last choice! It's just..." The blush was back, and Arthur watched, humored, as she tried to find the words. "You're a gentleman. And you're handsome and collected and people like you and you make me feel like I deserve respect and if I show up with you, every girl or guy who ever made fun of me, saying I was too young and naive to finish high school that early, would have to swallow their words."

She peeked up at Arthur from under her lashes, scared of what he would say or how he would react to her babbled explanation.

Instead, his smile was perfectly, cunningly gentle. "It would be my pleasure, Ariadne."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two; Doubts

a/n These two are so cute and I love Arthur.

Ariadne stared at her suitcases in panic. Every outfit she owned had been thrown in and out of the bags several times. She told herself over and over that she wanted to look perfect so her classmates would be stunned by her transformation from the too-smart, too-young, geek with the braces. But the truth was that she wanted to look perfect for Arthur.

It was underhanded of her to use him this way. She really had meant the request to be innocent and uncomplicated. But now, the day before they left for the states, she finally faced reality: Ariadne wanted Arthur to be her _real_ boyfriend.

Which was why her clothes were scattered over the room and she was doing her very best not to tear her hair out.

Her fingers slipped up to brush the silk scarf at her throat, a habitual gesture that she unconsciously used to calm herself down. Finally, she groaned, grabbed her wallet, and walked out to use her take from the last job to by herself an entirely new wardrobe. One that would make her seem as classy and confidently sophisticated as Arthur. One that would convince people she was supposed to be on his arm.

An hour later she had bought two new evening gowns, three pairs of high heels, a dinner jacket, and six scarves. Sitting at an outside table at a café, she dropped her head heavily onto the table top and groaned.

And a familiar, kind voice from behind her asked, "What's the matter, Ariadne? Second thoughts about the reunion?"

The voice sent her jumping to her feet and spinning to face him so fast that she swayed, feeling dizzy. Arthur immediately saw her trouble, and his hand softly caught her arm and steered her back down onto the chair she had so abruptly left.

As his hand slid slowly from her elbow to her wrist, she felt the tension go out of her. Being around him excited her, and calmed her down all at once. Something about the peace and quiet confidence he radiated affected her and made her feel more comfortable in her own skin.

He finally released her to wave over the waitress and ordered another coffee for Ariadne (just the way she liked it, which had never before realized he'd noticed), and one for himself. His French was soothing and nearly perfect, except for the traces of an accent he never quite managed to hide

Then those dark eyes turned back to her. "Tell me what's going on, Ariadne." It was a demand masquerading as a question, but the way he said it didn't make her feel caged.

"I don't have anything to wear to this stupid reunion," she admitted.

His gaze travelled from her frazzled state down to the few bags under the table. "You have an entire wardrobe of clothes already, Ariadne. Ones that suit you."

"But they're not-!" She broke off, not even sure what she meant.

Those measuring eyes read her at once. "You want to look amazing and blow all your former classmates away, is that it?"

Ariadne was embarrassed to admit that her motives were so petty, but she nodded, cheeks hot.

His smile dismissed all her fears. "Ariadne, you are a brilliant, beautiful girl with a style all her own. All the other women at the reunion are going to be jealous of how young you seem next to them, and all the men will be tripping over themselves to get you alone. You don't need to change who you are or how you look. You're amazing and successful as is."

Those green eyes met his, hope and suspicion shining through in equal parts. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, I really do." The waitress finally returned with their drinks, and a twenty was slipped into her hand by the pointman before Ariadne could protest. He took a sip, then raised an eyebrow. "But if you want to find some nice clothes that will make you feel more confident, without giving up who you are, there's shop near here with a nice selection of outfits I think you'd like."

Ariadne's smile lit up her face like a ray of sunshine bursting through a storm. "Thanks, Arthur."

"My pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three; First Glances

a/n Thank you all those who have reviewed and favorited! Wow, I got a lot of reactions to this story. Hopefully I can keep it going.

As they entered the hotel, Ariadne tried to control her nerves.

She had the wardrobe to match anything her classmates might show up wearing. (Although all the clothes were still her, as Arthur had insisted she only buy things she would wear in her regular life as well.) Ariadne knew she should feel confident, considering that she was doing well in school, successful at her job (even though a series of lies would be all anyone learned about her career), independently wealthy -thanks to the cost of extraction and inception- and her fake boyfriend...

She peered up at the immaculately dressed point man beside her.

Arthur looked naturally, mouthwateringly dashing. Dark hair slicked back, three-piece Armani suit sharply creased, a small smile lighting his handsome features, he radiated control, calm and charisma.

Ariadne fought back a girly giggle.

Even if she wasn't confident about anything else, Arthur was the key to making her former classmates respect who she had become. Just having him at her side, constantly aware of her feelings, his attention on her, and she practically forgot what it felt like to be the awkward brace-face of her high school. Suddenly she was the happy young woman with the world at her feet who she had always wanted to be. And the man on her arm that all of her female classmates (and several of the males as well) would kill to have.

The pleased grin on her lips died when she approached the hotel's front desk just as a familiar voice called her name from behind.

"Arrrrrri! You look all grown up, and I almost didn't recognize you from behind!"

The architect turned, trying to hide her grimace behind a pleasant expression. If it was who she thought it was, Arthur would be under siege as soon as he appeared with the bags to give to the bellboy.

Her gaze fell on the brunette with the figure of a model and bright green eyes, wearing a form-fitting, pale yellow sundress. McKayla Etches hadn't been the absolute _bane_ of Ariadne's existence, but it had been close.

"_Ari!_ Oh my god, what did you do with your _hair?_ Still, nice job with the make-up. And your teeth are so white and straight! Maybe our rooms will be next to each other, how much fun would that be? Let's find out!"

She blinked, and the woman had her arm linked through Ariadne's, dragging her towards the concierge.

The woman barely gave them a glance when Ariadne leaned forward and asked about her reservation.

Then Arthur was there, wrapping an arm around her waist and smoothly disengaging her from the brunette's grasp. He pulled her securely to his side, one eyebrow raised to go with the secret smile he aimed down at her. Completely ignoring McKayla, who looked too awed to make a sound, he turned to the concierge.

"Hello."

The woman behind the desk, rolled her eyes, looked up, and swallowed her gum.

"Miss?"

Blinking, "Linda" -as her name tag identified her- jolted back, fingers rattling over the keyboard. "I-I'm so sorry, sir! I-"

The soft shake of his head and the casual smile almost made the hotel clerk melt. "Don't apologize. It's no trouble."

"R-right. Okay."

A moment later, she looked back up, a wide, flirty grin on her face. "You and your _companion_-" she gave Ariadne a jealous, quizzical look. "-are in rooms 205 and 207."

Ariadne wanted to hold her head. She had booked separate rooms! What legitimate couple in this day and age would stay in _separate rooms_?

Again, Arthur saved the day. The troubled expression on his face was perfect. "I'm sorry. What?"

The smile on Linda's face died, and her eyes went wide, flickering between the pointman and the computer screen. "Rooms 205 and t-t-207, sir?"

A shake of his noble head and a disappointed sigh. "We only booked _one_ room, Miss."

The glare that hit Ariadne jolted her out of her shock. "Arthur, we don't have to-"

"No, Ariadne." His was absolutely serious. "I'm sorry for the mistake, love, but we will fix this." Which left the architect speechless as he looked back down at the concierge. "Isn't that right, Miss Linda? My girlfriend and I only need the one room."

This was met with a dazzled smile. "Y-yes, sir."

As she tapped away, trying to fix the "mistake", Arthur leaned forward again. "Excuse me, Miss Linda."

"Yes?" Eager to please, she glanced up.

The handsome face tilted slightly, an odd gleam in his dark eyes as he looked over at the woman on his arm. "What size is the bed?"

All three women blushed bright red.

"A-a t-twin, sir."

"That won't do. Do you have anything larger available?"

Her eyes flew back to the computer. "I, uh, I'm afraid that we're all booked up, sir."

"Anything?"

"Um..." Fingers flying over the keyboard, she finally grinned. Then frowned. "The, uh, the only place available is the, um, th-the Honeymoon S-suite, sir."

The masculinely appreciative smile directed at Ariadne made her momentarily forget to breathe.

"That would be prefect."

"But-! But it's two _hundred_ extra dollars a night!" Linda protested.

"That should be no problem," was the unconcerned response.

By the time it had all been worked out, and Arthur led Ariadne toward the elevator, room keys in hand, bellboy trailing behind with their luggage, McKayla looked like she was about to have a heart attack.

Ariadne gave her ex-classmate a sweet little wave, inner child screaming "I WIN, YOU LOSE!"

Then Arthur's lips brushed Ariadne's cheek, and she completely forgot the brunette woman's name.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four; Deals with the Devil

a/n The character of Sierra is only loosely based on a couple of girls my little sister knows. *apologetic shrug* If she knew any girls who were just like Sierra, I'd probably have to buy a tank equipped with rocket launchers.

Things had been going so well. They had dropped off their bags, silently agreeing not to worry about sharing a room until that night.

Four hours had been spent walking around the city, with Ariadne taking the opportunity to show Arthur all her favorite old haunts, telling stories about her life and childhood.

Things didn't go downhill until they stood in line at the hotel restaurant for lunch. Arthur's phone had rang, and he had checked, rolled his eyes ("Eames."), and then hurried off to take the call.

It was while she smiled and kept moving forward toward the desk that she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Spinning, she stared in horror.

The _actual_ bane of Ariadne's high school existence came strutting across the foyer toward her. 5'7", blonde with bright blue eyes, perfect figure, perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect skin. Sierra Margaret Tessa Jolene Desiree Hawkins.

It took less then thirty seconds for the woman who was -in Ariadne's mind- evil incarnate to latch onto her old victim.

"Oh. My God. If it isn't the charity case with the mythological name. Glad to see you finally got a bit of a chest. Too bad you're still too short for it to make any difference. And what the hell is up with all the pathetic, garage sale scarves? Really, sweetheart, you need some proper tutoring in how to know what something's worth. Like this necklace." Those carefully filed, metallic painted nails tapped the diamonds and gold at her throat. Then she sniffed. "Or that hair cut of yours. I hope you didn't actually _pay_ to have someone chop it up and claim it was stylish like that."

Then came the model-walk up to peer down her nose at Ariadne, polished eyebrows raised. "So, where have you been all this time, Mini Trailer Trash? Is it too much to hope that some poor slob figured he could do worse and actually married you so you won't end up as the crazy, old, spinster cat lady I always supposed was in your future? Oh wait- having that many cats requires a house which, you know, requires money. But I'm sure you'll make do. Maybe you could get pregnant and sell your kids to those sad, desperate couples who aren't as fertile as the Brace-Face. What was that rumor about you and the soccer team again? Oh well. I guess those type of stories require actually being able to catch a guy's attention, so you should be safe."

Every word was like a punch to Ariadne's gut, shriveling all the poise and happiness that had been building up over the past few hours. Why couldn't a bus hit Sierra, or a bird crap on her head, or some delusional old man attack her? Where was Arthur?

As though he heard her, suddenly he was there, a warm, calming presence at her side, his hand at her waist making her back straighten and her self-confidence return in a flood.

"Love, our table's ready." As usual, he was an absolute gentleman, while still blowing off Sierra. "Sorry to butt in, but we'd better hurry or they might give it to someone else." With a smooth nod to the blonde, he led Ariadne forward, past the line and into the restaurant.

It was only after they were seated, and the waiter had dropped off the menus, that she asked, "How did you-? No, _why_ did you-? I mean..."

He shrugged a well-clad shoulder, face smug. "The right bills in the right palm can get you a table a lot faster then waiting in line. And you looked like you needed an immediate excuse to get away from that woman. Who is she?"

Ariadne sighed, her fingers running helplessly over the names of the different dishes. "My biggest fan from high school. She's the one who pioneered the names "Brace-Face", "Mini Trailer Trash", and -my favorite- "Baby Freak". I was hoping she'd died on the plane ride over from her summer house in Dubai. Guess not."

Arthur's laugh was loud and long. "I never realized you were this bloodthirsty, Ariadne," he answered her raised brow.

Her grinned response was happy. "Sometimes. You never wished your old bullies would get struck by lightning or something?"

He tried to look offended. "Who said I was ever bullied?" Then the smile was back. "Nah, I always figured that their good luck would hold and getting hit by lightning would just give them some kind of notoriety or super powers."

Ariadne snorted into her water and grabbed a napkin, holding it over her mouth as she coughed and laughed. Finally under control, she nodded. "I guess that's true."

"Yes." Then he looked down at the menu, smirking. "My wish was always that they would drown in a vat of marshmallow sauce. No one could take you seriously then."

The laughter continued through dinner, and Ariadne completely forgot about Sierra until they retired to the bar and Arthur had to answer his phone. (This time he identified the caller as Cobb.)

It was while Ariadne was smiling softly, feeling lighthearted, fingering the lip of her drink that the devil reappeared.

"Really, Baby Freak? Is the gay guy a friend, or are you renting him for the week?" Sierra asked, sliding onto the stool beside Ariadne.

"W-what?" she spluttered, nearly dropping her drink.

That damn, perfect eyebrow went up. "No straight man is _ever_ that well put together."

"Arthur isn't gay!"

Sierra scoffed. "Care to prove it, Brace-Face?"

The architect glared and tried to move away. But the relentless blonde caught her arm and tugged her back. "If you're so sure, how about a little bet?"

"No."

Sierra chuckled, a cruel twist to her mouth. "If you win, I'll quit calling you Baby Freak, and all the other fun names. And if you refuse to play, I'll tell everyone your "boyfriend" was hitting on the bellboy when your back was turned."

"And if you win?" Ariadne ground out through clenched teeth.

This was met with a dazzlingly devious smile. "I get your man, of course. Provided he isn't as queer as a three dollar bill. And everyone realizes that you are still the pathetic little waist of air, while I show him off as my date."

Ariadne tried to pretend the older woman's words weren't affecting her, but it didn't last. Sighing, she nodded. "What's the deal?"

"First one to be kissed by your- What was his name?"

"Arthur," she snarled.

"Right, Arthur. The first one to be kissed by Arthur,_ in public_, wins. If he's gay, I'm assuming he won't let either one of us kiss him, and you still lose."

"Oka-"

"Not so fast, Baby Freak. I wasn't finished," Sierra frowned, malicious humor twisting in her ocean eyes. "When I say "kiss", I do _not_ mean a peck on the cheek, forehead, neck, jaw or lips. I mean a real kiss, mouth on mouth. The kind people read about in those pathetic romance novels so many women use as fantasy material, since they have no social life. Are we clear?"

Ariadne blushed, swallowed hard, then nodded, fingertips tracing restlessly over the pattern on her scarf. "All right. Is there a time limit."

"Before the final dance, of course. I want to show him off that night, in all his magnificence. That gives you _three whole days_ to try to work up to it. Good luck, Brace-Face."

A wave of the golden talons, and Sierra was off and out of the restaurant.

Which was when Arthur finally returned.

For a moment, Ariadne wanted to hit him or yell. But she was supposed to be _seducing_ him.

Oh shit. How had she gotten herself into this situation? Why had she listened to Sierra? That bitch knew exactly how to push Ariadne's buttons.

And how was she going to get Arthur to kiss her, _really kiss her_, before the dance or before Sierra managed it first?

Arthur stared in apparent confusion from the dazed woman to the empty glass in her hand. "Right. I think you've had enough to drink. Let's get you to bed."

He took the glass from her and laced his fingers through hers, leading an oddly compliant Ariadne into the lobby and towards the elevator. All the while considering how best to go about helping Ariadne win the bet. Without letting on that he knew there was one, of course. This was going to take planning and strategizing. But, after all, those were both things Arthur had a unique gift for.

He tugged the pretty brunette back to his side and let a little grin escape.

Unfortunately, this just baffled the subject of his scheming even more.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five; The Denial of Attraction Waltz

a/n *grin* You know by now I love messing with these two, right? Right? Yeah, well here's more proof. This chapter is slightly fluff-tastic.

Only when they returned to the Honeymoon Suite did Ariadne remembered the other problem.

"You can have the bed!" she blurted.

Arthur shocked her by dropping a quick kiss on her cheek, as he pulled off his jacket and tie and headed toward the bathroom. "That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, now would it? You get the bed, love."

Ariadne touched the side of her face gently in surprise. Then she shook it away, deciding he was trying to manipulate her with the sweet gesture.

Stomping up the closed bathroom door, she banged her fist against it. "Don't think you can distract me that easy, Arthur! You're the one doing me the favor, so you get the bed!"

Arthur let the corner of his lips curl up as he pulled off his vest and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. So the kiss hadn't managed its first job. But the jury was still out on the second half; acclimating Ariadne to casual kisses from him.

"Ariadne, you _are_ sleeping in that bed. If I have to wait for you to fall asleep and then move you into it, I will. And now, I'm going to take a shower."

He turned on the room's fan, and the water, and Ariadne groaned. No way he would hear her arguments now. Not unless whoever was in the room next door wanted to hear it too. And when it came to his threat about moving her- She groaned again. If anyone would stay up all night to do what he had suggested, it would be Arthur.

"Damn."

Giving up, at least until the pointman finished his shower, Ariadne flopped back onto the humongous bed. When the zipper of her blouse, just under her arm, started digging into her skin, she decided she might as well change. Dragging her suitcase onto one of the dressers, Ariadne flipped it open.

That was when she realized it- the only pajamas she had brought her her ratty, ink-and-marker-stained college t-shirts, and two pairs of cut-off sweatpants. Nothing cute or sexy or even boringly nice. Arthur was going to think she was a slob.

He was always so neat. The work space of the pointman was Eames favorite place to play, since he always managed to mess up the tidy space. Arthur's appearance was always immaculate. Even after one job were he had been in a huge fist fight, and then gotten shot, his hair was still exactly in place, and those expensive clothes were perfectly creased and ironed. The only sign of the struggle he had been through was the bullet hole and the accompanying blood stain on his left shoulder.

He was going to think Ariadne was an _absolute _slob.

It wasn't as though she had planned for them to share a room! (Admittedly, she _had_ reserved rooms with a connecting door. But she hadn't allowed herself to think about the possibility of leaving the door unlocked, and him moseying through it one night, with a gleam in his eyes, and her just getting our of the shower only wearing a huge bath towel, and-)

"I'm delusional," she moaned, dropping facedown back onto the bed, trying to not think about it for a few minutes.

"Ariadne?"

She jumped to her feet and spun to find Arthur standing there, wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist. (Fantasy Number Two, where _she _walked into _his_ room, and that gleam was in his eyes again, and-)

"Ariadne, do you know where my suitcase is?"

She tried to pull her eyes away from his smooth, defined chest and abs. A convulsive swallow, and she forced all fantasies away, making an effort to only look at his face.

(His well designed, handsome face, with the amazing cheekbones, and the dark eyes, and the strong eyebrows, and those sexy lips, and-)

No. _Focus_, Ariadne.

She shook her head, rolled back her shoulders, rubbed at her scarf, and then snapped herself out of it. "Sorry. I- I think I _did_ have too much to drink. Um, what was the question?"

Arthur was secretly smirking. Either coming out in just the towel had been a bad idea (or good, depending on how you looked at it), or Ariadne was a shocking lightweight when it came to drinking. She had drank all of _one_ Martini.

"My suitcase?"

"Right."

Heat blossomed on her cheeks, and determinedly kept her gaze on his face, not his body.

Pointing silently at the closet beside the entrance, she waited until he had turned and then grabbed up her bath items and a change of pajamas. Then she retreated (well more like "frantically ran") to the bathroom, slamming closed the door and locking behind her.

_Well, that was a bad idea_, Arthur considered, then let the grin show. _Or good..._

"This was _such_ a bad idea," Ariadne whispered, clutching the case of toiletries and the cotton clothes to her chest.

And the night had only just begun.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six; Sleeping Arrangements

a/n I hereby dedicate this short, but excessively "squeeeeeeee-able" chapter to all those fangirls out there who, like me, have no life and think Arthur is amazing.

Nearly an hour later, Ariadne tiptoed out of the bathroom. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders in two dripping braids, and she wore a faded green shirt that read "Viva Éducation! Viva Université Paris Sorbonne!" over a pair of loose, gray shorts.

She was half way to the couch near the front of the Suite when Arthur spoke.

"Ariadne." He sounded disappointed and amused, already lying out on the sofa in a similar outfit, eyes closed. "Don't even think about it. Lady gets the bed, gentleman takes the couch."

"You're being stupid," she protested.

"Well unless you use that enormous brain of yours to create an alternate solution, this is the way it's going to play out." His face stretched in a yawn, then those brown eyes snapped open.

She fidgeted as his gaze quickly brushed over her, then he smiled, focused again on her face. "Got anything yet, love?"

"You don't have to call me that, you know," she spoke, mind racing.

"I know," he returned, chuckling. "Blames Eames and his method acting."

"Oh." Then her eyes went wide, and Arthur watched as she opened her mouth, bit her lip, shifted her weight, then spoke, trying to sound unconcerned. "Well, we _are_ adults. We could... uh, we could share the bed."

Ariadne knew the blush was attempting to climb up her throat and onto her face, so she spun her back to him and hurried over to the bed.

She climbed under the covers on the left side and sunk back into the _amazing_ mattress, as the exhaustion finally hit her.

"It does look comfy," Arthur mused.

He had followed her and was standing at the edge of the bed, as she forced open one eyelid and gave him a sleepy, little nod.

Her eyes closed again when she felt his weight shift onto the opposite side of the bed and listened as the covers were adjusted.

"Goodnight, Ariadne."

Her answer was a content purr.

It was ten minutes later, when he was sure Ariadne was asleep, that Arthur scooted closed and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Sleep well, love."

Then he shifted back across and let himself drift into his own dreamless sleep.

...

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so well.

When Ariadne woke up the next morning, she was comfortable and warm. So mush that she didn't want to move, let alone consider getting out of bed and ready for the day.

Then she heard the snore behind her ear, felt the breath waft over her face, and realized she was in Arthur's arms.

_Arthur's arms!_

And he was fast asleep.

She desperately wanted her totem, wanted to check with the chess piece that this wasn't a dream.

Then she grinned and decided, for the moment, she really didn't care.

Snuggling closer, Ariadne let sleep take her again, as happy as she had ever been.

_Thank God we had to share a room._

Arthur woke later and was immediately aware of the girl he was embracing.

He let his eyes drift open, took in the peaceful smile on Ariadne's face, and grinned.

Tugging her to fit closer to him, just beneath his chin, his fell back into a state of half-sleep.

_Well done, Arthur. Worth an extra two-hundred dollars a night? Oh, yes it is._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven; Awkward and Sweet

a/n *teehee* My friend and I were considering Arthur's relationship with coffee.

In the end, it _was_ as awkward as Arthur had speculated.

Ariadne had rushed into the bathroom again, red as a tomato.

And Arthur had stumbled through the Suite, desperately searching for the coffee maker.

Eames always mocked Arthur's addiction, but it couldn't be helped. While preparing for a job, Arthur rarely slept more then two hours a night, his brain was rushing, calculating the different possible ways things could eventually fall out. He always loved his coffee, but throughout every job, he was on a near-constant caffeine high. The week after, trying to come back down, was always hell.

And the way he had been preparing for the reunion was so similar to a job that he needed coffee _now_, or he was going to drop dead.

It took nearly five minutes, five minutes where Arthur was praying for a major disaster to kill him, until the coffee maker was found. He waited for it to finish brewing, and then triumphantly poured himself a cup and drank deeply. Then he murmured, "Thank you, God, for specifically induced, body chemistry altering, deliciously strong stimulants early in the morning."

Then he headed back to his suitcase and considered what to wear for the day.

Ariadne stared at her frazzled (but well-rested) reflection in the bathroom mirror. She listed all the reasons to dread the day, and knew she should start panicking. "Life. The reunion. McKayla. Harris Rupar, if he shows up. Sierra. The _bet_." But as she unbraided her hair, Ariadne allowed herself a minute of happy glow. After all, she had woken up this morning in Arthur's arms.

Then she tugged at her curls in dismay. Despite braiding her hair, the locks were tangled together and attempting kink, up into poodle curls.

"Oh no you don't," she growled, pulling out her weapons: a round brush, a heavy-duty straightener, and all the mouse her hands could hold.

By the time she came back out, hair in order, ready for the day, Arthur was similarly ready, with the exception of his face. Ariadne giggled when she took in the scruff on his normally smooth face. If she could get a picture, she knew she could get Eames to pay just about anything for it. (Knowing the forger, he would do some very specific and embarrassing editing, then blow it up and stick it up all over the walls of their next headquarters for a job.)

As if he knew what she was thinking, he held up her cell phone and camera in the hand that wasn't occupied by a cup of coffee. "You don't get to play paparazzi this morning. Sorry." Then he pushed past her and locked the door behind him.

...

"What's on today's agenda, love?" Arthur asked, as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Ariadne fought to focus on the helpful timetable for the reunion, and not on the warm fingertips whispering across the nape of her neck, the touch as gentle as a cobweb. And just as infinitely, absurdly distracting.

Then he was dropping his head on her shoulder, eyes scanning the paper she held, willfully ignoring the effect he had on he petite girl. He would tuck the moment away for future reference.

"An auction? That sounds interesting. Any idea what they'll have on display? Or will this be one of those white-elephant auctions that involve bidding on some mystery item, and it ends up being a toaster, or one-way tickets to Portugal?"

The only way she would be able to make an intelligible response would be if he moved to the opposite side of the elevator. So the question was; did she retreat across the tiny space and regain her ability to speak, or stay where she was, the heat of him at her back, and simply give up on communicating for the next few minutes?

It wasn't even a contest. Ariadne sighed, handed the paper to Arthur, and let her body lean back against the pointman's chest.

She felt the inaudible rumble of laughter behind her, making her shiver lightly, as a pair of Armani-clad arms slipped around her shoulders and and Arthur's lips brushed lightly across the side of her jaw.

It was only as the ride came to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal the lobby, that the architect became aware of the shocked and covetous looks being shot her way by several of the other passengers of the elevator.

With a light heart, and a bubble of pure sunlight and joy fluttering around in her stomach, she prepared to meet what ever came for the day. She knew she still had a bet to win, and needed to convince her ex-classmates that she was more then they remembered. But right now, her overriding goal was to simply enjoy the day with Arthur.

...

Ariadne wandered through another section of items, alone. (Arthur has smiled, kissed her hand quietly, and then told her quite firmly that he was "not going to spend the next two hours gawking at jewelry" when he could be "getting intoxicated enough to actually bid on something".)

There were dozens of beautiful pieces, but nothing that had really caught Ariadne's imagination.

Then she saw something that seemed a little out of place.

It was an antique gold bracelet, heavy and round. Etched into the metal were looping, swirling vines and leaves. And, set in the design, shining and sparkling as tiny, blooming flowers, were ruby chips.

Something about the bracelet reminded her fiercely of the first time she'd used her gift to create a world in her own head. Why?

Then it dawned on her: the Cathedral.

That very first foray into her own mind, changing things, shaping and twisting until it was a paradise. But the pillar of her masterpiece was the Cathedral. She had spent weeks researching the most wonderful architecture from all over the world, and then did her best to combine her favorite bits and pieces, and ideas that came only from her, into one enormous, overwhelming building that radiated peace. It was her sanctuary from the world.

And her favorite part of the entire structure was the glass window, which the sun always shone through, illuminating the chapel in warm golds and brilliant reds. The panels were cut to show something she was sure had never been used in any house of worship prior to that moment: a Dreamer painting and sculpting their Dreams.

She wanted this bracelet.

Which was when a man came in and announced that the bidding for the accessories would begin in five minutes.

Ariadne pulled out the notepad she carried for ideas and copied down the lot number. Then she crossed her fingers and headed into the hall filled with chairs, and took a seat close to the front. She was well aware of her height, and she didn't want to loose that bracelet just because she was too far back.

Her eyes scanned the other people who walked in, taking their own places. All the eyes looked smooth, but she could see the predatory glint in several pairs that suggested they knew what they were doing and were used to winning.

Ariadne was tempted to hunt down and drag in Arthur. He was the type of person who must know how to conquer in a bidding war. But she didn't want to bother him if he was on his way to getting "sufficiently inebriated", especially about a piece of jewelry. Instead, she sat back, crossed her fingers and wished she felt as confident and powerful in the real world as she did in the dream.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight; His Observations, Her Surrender**

a/n So, according to my friend, this chapter does involve a bit of stalker!Arthur. BUT NOT IN A CREEPY, SPARKLY, 100+ YEARS OLD, BLOODSUCKING, WATCHING YOU IN YOUR SLEEP, CREEPY WAY. (Ah, the Twilight bashing. It's a national pastime. And if you are offended, on either side of the debate, because I brought it up - THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT. I.e., get over it. *laugh*)

The first twelve items had sold, after alternately extremely long and absurdly short bidding wars. And Ariadne was still waiting for the bracelet.

Then, suddenly, there it was, the lot number announced to the crowd, and the thick, gold band held up to gleam in the artificial light that filled the hall.

Ariadne glanced around the room, searching to see if anyone else was intent on owning the bracelet.

And there was Harris Rupar, the former jock who she had convinced herself she was in love with at the age of seventeen. And the polished woman beside him sat up straighter, eyes fixed hungrily on the bracelet, her fingers wrapping around the man's bicep.

Harris still had the classic, Beach Boy appeal, with curling blonde hair, now cropped short, a warm tan and the most sexy ocean-blue eyes most girls had ever seen. And the way Ariadne had fallen into those pools of deep turquoise while in high school was embarrassing to remember.

And now Harris, the boy she had made a fool of her younger self hopelessly and relentlessly pursuing, was here with his wife, or girlfriend. And that same woman had her eye on the bracelet Ariadne wanted to own.

Not good.

Then the opening price was announced, and Ariadne tried to keep her jaw from dropping. $10,000? For a _bracelet?_ That was crazy!

But, even as she considered not bidding, her mind kept flashing back to how she had felt when she saw it. Something in Ariadne recognized that the bracelet was _meant_ to be hers.

She took a deep breathe and raised her hand, upping the bid to $12,000.

The auctioneer nodded at her, then at someone behind her, all the while keeping up the incessant calling of numbers and questions that every auctioneer, from the ones at cattle shows to the ones who worked in Tiffany's, seemed to have mastered.

The man's attention darted back and forth between the architect and the other person, and Ariadne finally turned around to glare. Only to discover Harris, wincing as the price went up, and his wife-or-girlfriend kept nudging him. He did not look pleased with the way things were going, but he continued to raise his hand.

When his eyes met Ariadne's, she watched him do a double-take, clearly trying to place her. And then his mouth dropped open and he exclaimed, "Ari?"

Everyone in the room froze, staring at the two in confusion. Then the auctioneer asked if "the lady would like to continue bidding?" Ariadne spun back around, eyes wide.

Harris had remembered who she was? He had _recognized_ her? That was either horribly embarrassing, or Ariadne had made a better impression then she could recall. Finally, she turned her eyes back up to the auctioneer and stammered out, "H-how much are we a-at?"

"Twenty thousand, miss."

"Oh." She calculated in her head. It would probably cost less to simply have something similar custom made for a similar amount. And maybe Harris' significant other would stop poking him if he succeeded in buying her the bracelet.

With a slight shake of her head to the auctioneer, she slowly said, "I guess... I'm finished bidding."

"All right, miss." The auctioneer reached for his gavel, and began to bring it down, when a smooth voice announced from the back of the room, "Well, I'll bid twenty-five thousand. If I may."

Every head in the room whipped around and landed on the cool man leaning casually against the wall, a tall flute of champagne in one hand, and the other was tucked into the pocket of his immaculately tailored pants.

"Arthur?"

...

Arthur had watched Ariadne wander through the rows of displayed jewelry, trying not to give himself away by laughing.

He had told her he had no wish to look at the jewelry. And it was true. Instead, he wanted to study her as she checked out what there was available. Arthur was a consummate logician, and refused to go into anything unprepared. This meant better understanding the target: or, in this case, Ariadne.

He saw the way she stopped in front of the bracelet, stared down, eyes going distant as she remembered something. The delicate fingers that reached out, then curled back, reminding themselves not to touch. And then the determination that snuck up her backbone, straightening her even as she leaned over and copied down the number.

He heard the man announce the beginning of the auction, and as soon as Ariadne had rushed into the room, Arthur ambled over to the piece that had caught her attention, a glass of champagne held lightly in his hand.

He looked over the bracelet with the expertise of someone who had had opportunity to steal more then secrets in dreams, and easily recognized the worth of the band. Ariadne could afford it, but she was a frugal girl. And past a certain amount, she would probably drop out of the bidding.

If she was going to a have this bracelet for herself, a little Arthur Intervening might be in order.

Which had led to the moment of bidding wherein he snagged the beautiful piece for his favorite Architect.

And it was worth every penny for the stunned, secretly pleased look on her face.

"Arthur, you didn't have to-" she turned to him as he casually took the seat beside her, waiting for the rest of the auction to finish.

He took another sip of champagne and smiled, before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Yes, I did."

The flush in her cheeks was rosy and adorable, and the way she was biting her lip was oddly cute. "No, really, Arthur. I can pay you for it, if you want. I don't want you to think that you have to-"

This time, the peck landed on the edge of her jaw, and his whispered words were teasing and pleased. "It's a gift, love. One doesn't pay the gift-giver for the gift received."

That got a familiar, incredulous and annoyed look from the brunette, but Arthur was having too much fun watching her try to stop blushing to be bothered. With a grin, he offered her his glass. And, glaring all the while, she took it and downed the remaining bubbly liquid in several quick swallows.

While the auction continued, and he waited for the chance to go up and pay, then collect his present for Ariadne, he took the time to glance surreptitiously around the room. And he wasn't pleased when he realized the man he had outbid, the one who apparently knew Ariadne, was continually looking her way. The puzzlement on the man's face wasn't flattering to his Architect, but the interest there was much more dangerous to Arthur's plans.

He decided the best course of action would be using work experience: discovering information about the target, weaknesses, personal relationships, etc. Whoever this blond man was, Arthur would take him down with as much malice and enjoyment as Eames had ever shown mind constructs if the man so much as _looked_ at Ariadne funny again.

...

Ariadne was lost in a confused haze. First Harris, then Arthur, and the bracelet- And Harris recognized her! And Arthur was going too far in his act at being a convincing fake boyfriend-!

But one glance over at the perfectly put together gentleman at her side, and Ariadne knew he would never accept payment for the bracelet.

_He's too nice to me_, she thought. But all that did was give her a feeling of combined warm joy and guilt for dragging him here with the wrong intentions.

And then there was still the bet.

_Oh, geez. I'm going to Hell._ Ariadne wanted to hold her head and groan. And she couldn't, because then Arthur would know something was up. Who was she kidding? He was absurdly perceptive. He probably already _knew_ something was up, and just hadn't made the effort to figure out what yet.

Then the auctioneer was announcing the end of the bidding for the items available at this time, and Arthur was taking her hand, slipping the empty champagne flute out of her hand and easily passing it to waiter. Lifting her to her feet, he led Ariadne to the front, pulling out a card to pay for the bracelet.

For a whole three seconds, she tried to convince herself that she could stop him and talk him out of it, or convince him to let her pay him back. Then she gave up, with a soft sigh.

That would be the day.

And as he took the gorgeous band from the case, sliding it around her wrist, then bowing and kissing the back of her hand, a tiny, kidding gleam in his eyes, she also (again) gave up trying to pretend she wouldn't let him do whatever he wanted.

She was head-over-heels, and that just wasn't fair. But she really couldn't decide to care how unreasonable it was.

Instead, she felt her cheeks heat up and a smile drew itself across her lips, as she giggled like some kind of stupid, love struck teenager.

And he wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out, his chuckles giving nearby women a delightful shiver.

**a/n2 Just a quick apology: sorry it's taken me this long to post this. My muse is like destiny and karma - a fickle brat. But hopefully the next chapter will come a little faster. Thanks again for all those who have reviewed, favorited and put this story on alert! You guys rock. *giggle***


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